


i bet on losing dogs

by gaygiggling



Series: moon child, don't you cry [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Fighting, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, a lot of fighting, dream is a real dickhead in here, he cheats on george too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygiggling/pseuds/gaygiggling
Summary: George has trouble showing his love. Dream has trouble accepting that. Their fights are never-ending.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: moon child, don't you cry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191353
Comments: 26
Kudos: 283





	i bet on losing dogs

**Author's Note:**

> have you ever listened to a song and it just fits so perfectly with your emotions and state of mind? please listen to i bet on losing dogs by mistki if you haven't already. 
> 
> this piece is very (and i mean VERY) closely based on my last relationship, and it hurts my heart to even write this author's note because it's a personal part of me i never thought i'd ever find the words to explain. here is 'i bet on losing dogs'. it's emotional and it's heavy.

“ _Maybe I’ve just been having as much fun as I can to avoid thinking about the fact that you’re no longer beside me._ ” Dream’s voice is quivering, and George can hear the sniffles loud as ever over the phone. “ _I wish you could be beside me._ ”

George’s hands tremble with the weight of the words, with his heart that threatens to soften, with his rusted willpower. He clenches his jaw as the voicemail continues. 

“ _You were good to me._ ”

George shakes. He wants to scream, wants to rip his vocal chords clean out of his throat. He wants to land blow after blow on Dream’s face, send a strong uppercut to his solar plexus. He wants to yell, _I was! I was good to you. I was the best you ever had and I loved you._

He wills his fingers to be strong. They go numb as he slowly reaches, over mountains and rushing waters, over years of unspoken hurt, over rivers of resentment, and deletes the voicemail. 

_Why did you make me like this?_

* * *

It wasn’t always like this.

In fact, some days, George could ask for nothing more.

They were friends for years. They grew into adulthood together, filled out the gigantic shoes of their graceless expectation. They held hands in parks, walking together in the early evenings, sitting by trees and petting dogs as they came by.

Years of locked Discord calls and Snapchats tucked away under pillows culminated into blazen friendship, bordering on the line of love. Dream called George his soulmate, and in dark corners of his heart, George loved it. 

The day everything changed, they lay together in bed. Dream’s heater had broken, and they shielded away from the fall chill under the covers, huddling together for warmth. 

It was an evening of comfortable silence, talking, laughing, forgetting time as it passed them by quietly. The sun went down in a pool of blazen glory, bathing them in glowing orange. 

George looked at Dream, his features backlit by the dying sunlight, and his heart felt at peace. He studied the way Dream breathed, the way his lips curved into a smile when he read something funny, his eyes glittering with mirth every time he looked up from his phone and at George.

“What are you looking at?” He asked, his breath hot against George’s cold skin. 

“Nothing,” George whispered, but his eyes never faltered. 

They looked at each other for a second, one tantalising second, before George looked away with a shudder. 

“I like your eyes,” Dream murmured. “They’re- they’re so bright.”

George snorted. “They’re brown.” 

“But bright,” Dream smiled at him. “They sparkle like fire in the dark. Like- like they’re alive.” 

“I don’t like them.”

“I-” Dream stopped. Hesitated, thought. “I do.”

And then he shifted closer, slotting his face against George’s, lips not quite touching. They closed their eyes and sighed together, breathing in each others’ eyes and noses and mouths. 

George opened his eyes first. “What are you doing?”

Dream opened his. Bright, emerald, beautiful. “Nothing.”

And then he kissed George. Soft, melting, almost weightless. Almost non existent. Almost as if he hadn’t willed him into his arms, and craved him. Then he broke apart from him, eyes worried, slaved to his will. “I'm sorry-“ he breathed, for the first time in a long time, really breathed like he was alive. “I’m sorry. Did I do the wrong thing?”

George answered without answering. A split moment’s hesitation before he kissed him, heavier, forceful, with an energy of a thousand suns that lay dormant for decades only to come and burn through the retinas of lovesick fools. “No,” his voice breathy, airy, heavenly. “You did the right thing.”

* * *

Dream asked George to move in with him, after weeks of wordless motions and tantalising touches. George said _yes, of course_ , and packed up his life into three suitcases and a backpack. Dream whirled him away into an apartment with ceiling-to-floor windows, hard wood floors, and a bed that fit the two of them and still had more space to turn. 

He had always held George in such high regard; he loved in such explosive ways, pouring his love into the sky for the whole world to watch. He held George in strong arms, comforting and loving and adoring, and George let him, watching in reluctant silence as Dream burnt down his walls, setting him free.

They fell in love with the spring, the flowers blooming and the world turning. Sunlight spilled from Dream’s hands as he touched George in ways no one ever dared to touch him. His love bled into his kisses, raw and trickling sweet, metallic tang on their tongues like breath they chased to inhale, to live just a few seconds more in this gravity. 

George watched in silent contemplation, in horrific envy, at the way Dream so freely talked, dropped ‘I love you’s at the end of conversations, as parting words before work, as prayers as they moved together in tandem, burning skin to burning skin. How liberating it must be, he thought, to be so open, to be so casual without the weight of the world sitting heavy with that confession. Dream ran ahead, hand tightly gripping George’s, lighting caves of uncertainty with the unbridled pride that emanated from his words, dousing kerosene into dark tunnels, leaving the world a mess ablaze.

Dream stared in awestruck wonder at the world before him.

George looked back in solemn silence at the life he left behind.

* * *

“You are my wishing star,” Dream murmured softly against George’s skin. He pressed a fiery kiss to his temple, his heart slowing down to rest next to George’s. “I love you.”

George said nothing back, just a gentle hum as he skimmed his fingertips against Dream’s back. He’d never said it; the words teased the tip of his tongue, but no sound ever played it forward. It was stuck in transit, and George couldn’t find the strength in him to coax it out.

“Don’t you love me?” Dream asked.

“You know I do,” George whispered. “I just… I can’t say it back.”

He tried to ignore the way Dream’s bright eyes dulled, and his gilded expectation extinguished into greying ashes. He reached forward and kissed Dream in silent apology, trying to make him understand the ache in his heart that kept him from unearthing his confession. 

When Dream fell asleep, he let himself cry, let himself be washed away by the hurting confusion, by the burning flames that lick at his skin.

Dream’s voice was all he heard as he closed his eyes, willing himself to succumb to the lulling waves of unconsciousness. _Don’t you love me? Don’t you love me?_

He soaked the pillowcase with absent tears, and turned to face away from his boyfriend, watching as the night inched by.

* * *

They sat together in Dream’s living room, nursing a bottle of vodka, now warmed by the fire that burned in their hands. They kissed, explosive and dangerous, teetering off the edge of something George didn’t have the heart to stop. 

“Baby, you’re so beautiful,” Dream croaked, voice dry and hoarse. “I wish you loved me the way I love you.”

It burned in George’s heart, that simple statement, one that he was sure Dream had forgotten already, judging by the way he swayed with the influence of the alcohol coursing through his veins. 

_You know I do, you know I do, you know I do. You know how hard it is for me to say it._

“I want-” Dream hiccuped, “I want everything with you. I want to wake up next to you, I wanna dance with you, I wanna marry you George,” he breathed, eyes watery, pupils blown wide. “I wanna marry you, I wanna be with you-”

“Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true,” Dream continued. “It is, and you know it. I wish you wanted it too.”

Tears stung the back of George’s eyes. “Stop it.”

“I love you, baby,” Dream ignored his pleading tears, his crumpled expression. “Why won’t you love me too?”

He knocked over the bottle in his haste to get up. His breathing shallowed, and he wanted to scream at Dream, yell his throat hoarse and broken and bleeding. “Do you really love me?” He asked, voice threatening to break. “Or do you just love whatever sick idea you have of me?”

Dream stared at him in shocked silence. 

“Because,” his voice quivered. “You keep telling me these- _all these things_ , like that you want me forever, or you love me more than anything and you know- _you know,_ Dream, that I can’t say it back.”

He looked at the boy that sat below him, eyes glassy, words choked back. George wanted to slide back down to the floor to meet him, to press sorry kisses on his reddening cheeks. 

His willpower steeled his heart, and he breathed steadily, evening his irregular heart beat. “I’m going to bed,” he said simply, and with a heavy heart, turned away from the light of his life.

* * *

Dream made them both breakfast the next morning. He pretended the night never happened, that George never said anything. As grateful as he was for it, a bit of his chest weighed down with a sliver of resentment. _Did you care about anything that I said?_ he wanted to ask. _Do you even remember what I said?_

He slid quietly into the seat opposite Dream, fingers drumming the granite island top. He mumbled a small, “Thank you,” when Dream pushed a plate full of toast and eggs and bacon over to him, and gingerly picked up his cutlery. 

“Did you sleep well?” Dream asked, back turned to George as he tended to the frying pan crackling on the stove. George had woken up to untouched pillows and an empty right side of the bed, which meant Dream slept in the living room. He winced slightly.

“Yeah, I slept alright.” 

Dream hummed in response, shovelling his breakfast onto his plate before settling himself on the stool that faced George. They ate in tense silence, silverware clattering against porcelain in the quiet morning. 

George began with, “I’m sorry,” the same time Dream blurted, “I think we should break up.”

They stared at each other with wide eyes, incredulity crossing George’s face faster than he can register what Dream just said. “What did you just say?” he pressed, voice treading on thorned malice.

Dream’s eyes flickered from George’s venomous ones, back down to his breakfast. George could see the way his bottom lip trembled as he repeated, “I think we should break up.”

George let out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream said, pushing his toast around the sea of blue ceramic, miles more interesting than George was, apparently. “I thought about what you said last night, about how I pushed you too far-”

“I did not say that,” George hissed. “I just wanted you to understand that I don’t _love_ the same way you do. I don’t make declarations, I don’t make performances out of my love.” He rushed to get the words out before the stopper in his throat threatened to suffocate him. “I just want you to understand that- that I feel the same way for you, but I don’t show it the same way.”

“Why?” Dream asked, broken green eyes daring to meet George’s. “How hard is it for you to just say it? To kiss me in public?” 

“You don’t understand, Dream, I just feel like-”

“And I just feel like you _don’t love me,_ ” Dream cried, some kind of twisted disappointment swallowing him whole. “I would give anything for you- I’d fight the world for you, and you won’t even tell me you love me.”

“And that’s why you want to break up?” George almost laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Is it too much to ask for, George?” Dream asked with singed gentleness. “For you to love me?”

The words scalded George’s hands, his throat, his tongue as he cried, “I do! For fuck’s sake, I do.” The tension in his shoulders wired him taut, and he wanted to reach out and cup Dream’s rigid jaw in his hands. “Why won’t you believe me?”

Dream’s eyes glinted with confused hurt, and he shied away from George’s palm. “I think we should break up.”

The melted warmth in George’s heart froze over, and his voice turned to steel. His heart ached, ached to change, ached to show Dream, ached to give him what he wanted. “You’re a coward,” He began. “You’re flighty, you’re selfish, you run ahead so far you don’t stop to really _see_ the way you treat people.” His hands trembled, and he swallowed the painful thick that lodged in his throat. “Stop giving up on things you can fix, Dream.”

“I’m not _giving up-_ ” 

“Then why are you so willing to let this go?” George’s grip on the silverware was bruising. “I’ve given you everything I have- I’m there when you call, I follow where you run. I keep my cries and my problems silent because I never want to bother you-”

Dream’s quick words interrupted him, his cutlery clattering against the countertop as he gripped George’s thin wrist across the table. “You- what did you say?” 

He inhaled sharply. “I-” He flustered, suddenly so acutely aware of what he was saying. “I said I never wanted to bother you with how I felt.”

“But- why?”

“Because,” he gently pulled his wrist out of Dream’s grip, watching as Dream’s hand softened but never recoiled. “when you tell me things like, _I wish you loved me,_ it hurts, Dream. Is my love not enough for you? Why can’t- why can’t you see that I gave up everything to be with you? Everything you do, the life we lead now, it’s nothing like what I wanted, but I was more than willing to give it up if it meant I could be- be with you.” The cutting edge to his voice was sanded down now to bluntness, but it still pumped full of singed hurt and coursing venom. 

“I never knew-”

“Of course you didn’t,” George continued painfully. “Because you’re so caught up in your performances, in your- _Look at me!”_ His voice dripped with scathing silver, forcing Dream to hold his gaze, squirming uncomfortably. “I- I love you, Dream.” 

They looked at each other in silence for a second, before George pushed on, words bubbling out of his throat like it was overflowing. “I’m okay with letting you go if you really don’t want to be with me anymore. I will _never_ hold you against your will.” His words stung, but they had to be said. “But I’m not letting you throw away something that we can fix.”

The threat of an apology hung in the air, but neither of them summed up the courage to bring it down. They looked at each other, burning brown to broken green, and the world as George knew it fell to its knees. 

* * *

“Baby?”

George turned around from his spot on the couch, watching Dream as he stepped into the living room. His cologne plugged itself in George’s nostrils, suffocating him. “Hey, you,” George smiled. “Where are you off to?”

Dream shifted his collar, his button down left open slightly at the top, letting the glittering necklace George had bought for him hang proudly on the tan triangle of skin. “I’m going to meet a couple of my friends for drinks,” he crossed over to George, kissing him so sweetly, almost melting the pool of uncertainty that tainted their lips. 

As soon as Dream crossed over the threshold of their apartment, George felt the wave of haunting disappointment that crashed over him, pulling him apart. He didn‘t want to admit it, that every ‘baby’ felt so obligatory, every kiss was hindered by some kind of hesitation. Their dinners were silent, breakfasts eaten in different parts of the house. Sometimes Dream would fall asleep right after he came, breathing even as George hiccuped through broken sobs.

They were treading on eggshells of a relationship. It was courteous, polite, no more fiery passion for fear of another nasty fight that rendered them too angry to even look at each other, broken furniture, and a noise complaint from the neighbours that lived across them. 

“ _We can’t do this anymore, George_ ,” Dream warned one night, weaving through blazen words and kerosene promises. “ _I don’t want to fight anymore._ ”

“ _Then leave!_ ” George yelled at him, spitting venom and shards of dying sunlight. “ _Just fucking go._ ”

Dream’s temper was explosive, and he let words he never meant slip past red lips. “ _No one will love you like I love you,_ ” he said, red-tipped and wrapped with the thinnest thread of truth. “ _I walk out, and you have nothing."_

That was it. They would go to bed angry, wake up next to one another, and spend the day gluing pieces of their love back together before shattering it again every night. 

Their relationship was crumbling; they both knew it, but every night, without fail, Dream would slip into bed next to George and sing gentle sorry’s to him, and George felt a love he’d never thought he’d ever have. It set his heart ablaze, and filled a lonely hole in his heart that he never wanted to let go.

It was dangerous. It was destructive. It threatened to kill them both, and they flirted with death every morning.

He pretended to be asleep when Dream came home that night, and hid his tears when he slipped into bed, smelling of somebody else. 

* * *

George was half asleep in bed, Dream’s arm tucked under his head as some television rerun played softly, white noise accompanying their wordless conversation. Dream was humming a small tune, and George’s eyelids were drooping, threatening to close. 

“ _My baby, you’re my baby,_ ” Dream crooned to George, planting a feather-light kiss on his forehead. Together, they lay in the dim light, waiting as sleep came over them.

A buzz, and Dream’s arm shifted slightly. George was half gone before Dream sat up quickly, pulling his arm out from under George’s head. He turned drowsily, and cuddled up to Dream again. “Wha’ happened?” he asked, sleep trimming off the coherency of his words.

“It’s my friend,” Dream explained. “Baby, I gotta go for a bit, okay? She needs my help right now.”

In his clouded thought, George frowned. “Your- huh? Who?”

Dream kissed George sweetly, climbing out of bed gracelessly. The bed felt cold, and George craved the warmth of his boyfriend next to him again. “I gotta go. I’ll be back soon, okay?” He smoothed a hand over George’s forehead, tucking stray strands of his dark hair behind his ear. “Just go to bed, I’ll be back when you wake up.”

“‘s late, Dream,” George mumbled. “Go tomorrow, sleep now.”

He smiled sadly. “I’ll be back soon,” he reassured, and behind the haze of George’s sleepiness, he watched as Dream got dressed and hurriedly left the apartment. 

George tried to sleep. He cuddled up top Dream’s pillow, hoping it would exude the same warmth and comfort Dream once did. 

It didn’t.

* * *

George waited all night for Dream to return. 

The sun rose before he heard the door unlock, and he had to stop himself from crying again. 

* * *

“Who is she?’ George asked the next morning.

Dream offered him a confused smile. “Who is who?”

“The girl. The one you keep leaving to see.”

He watched in muted anger, in tired frustration as Dream laughed, shaking his head. “She’s a friend, baby. She’s been through some stuff, and I just wanna be there for her.”

“You’ve been being there for her quite a lot nowadays.”

They tread on haughty voices, anger slowly rising. “Are you jealous?” Dream asked, turning back to look at George. “She’s a _friend._ Am I not allowed to have friends now?”

George’s heart pounded in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, going back to eating his breakfast.

* * *

“Why do you stick around?”

Nick and George sat together in a little cafe, huddled by the window, watching as rain poured down and washed away the sins of the world. Sheets pounded the pavement, and George found a strange therapy in it.

“I don’t know.”

He let out a muffled cry of pain when Nick bumped his shoulder, forcing him to look at his friend. “Don’t give me bullshit, George. You’re miserable with him. He treats you like shit. Why are you still staying?”

Nick’s gaze burned into him, and he itched in his own skin, running fingertips over raised bumps. “He loves me.”

“He _hurts_ you.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” George tried to whisper, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. _I’m his baby._ _He loves me._ “I don’t know what I am without him.”

The look of pity Nick gave him is carved out of saccharine sympathy, far too sweet, far too sticky. He wanted to roll his eyes, watch the world disappear behind the grey rain. 

“Do you love him?” he asked, voice treading carefully on broken glass.

“More than anything,” George mumbled, not taking his eyes off the rhythmic beat of the rainfall.

“Do you?” Nick pressed. “Or are you just so scared of being alone?”

“Nick, stop.”

“No. Answer me, do you love him, or did he just make you love him?”

He whipped around sharply, throwing amber daggers into Nick’s sternum. “I said, _stop._ ” 

Nick stopped, but the words hung in the air, nooses ready for the taking. They sat in silence, sipping at the coffees.

George’s heart ached. “I think he’s seeing someone else.”

A look of crumpled shock crossed Nick’s face. “Why do you think that?”

George shrugged, pushing down the bile rising in his throat as he remembered all the times Dream came home smelling sickly sweet, the days he promised to be home for dinner and ended up letting the food go cold. “He’s spending a lot of time with his friend,” he said softly, not daring to meet Nick’s eyes. “I don’t want to assume anything, but it’s been months.”

“So I’m right.”

He glanced at Nick, painted incredulity washing over his features, the soft stubble that grew on his chin, the soft cheeks that he never really grew into. “Right about?”

“He’s treating you like shit. He’s _cheating on you_ , and you’re still making excuses for him.”

George spluttered on his bitter coffee, venom tanging on his tongue. “He’s not- I mean, I don’t know if he is, I don’t want to assume-”

“George, you’re destroying yourself.” Nick reached over the table, cupping his big hand over George’s smaller, thin fingers. They trembled, painted pretty purple with bruises and cuts, reminiscent of fights that escalated into something George couldn’t control. “Please, please. Just leave him.”

“I can’t,” George whispered. “I’m nothing without him.”

“Who told you that?”

 _He did._ “Nobody! I just, we’ve been together for years. We’re meant for each other, and I'm sure this is just something that will pass.” His voice was unsure, uncertain, wavering over breakwaters threatening to give way under him and sending him slipping into crushing waters. He looked up, eyes watery. “Right?”

Nick didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence was enough.

* * *

When George came home that evening, dinner was ready on the kitchen island, silverware sitting quietly on either side of the dishes. He hung his coat up and stepped carefully into the apartment, his heart beating itself to death in its cage. “Dream?” He called tentatively into the house, waiting for a response.

“Baby!” Dream poked his head out of the kitchen, bright and dizzying. The face that once brought George warmth and comfort now rendered him to his knees, nausea building steadily in his abdomen. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

George braced his arms on the counter, watching as Dream finished up the final touches to their dinner. “Come eat,” he breathed, pulling out the chair for George to sit down. 

“You saw her again today.” George blurted, and he immediately wished he didn’t. He wanted to stuff his word back into his mouth, swallow them and wash them down with a hot glass of his blood. He stared blankly at Dream, his breathing shallow. 

He watched the way Dream’s face dropped, letting out a reluctant chuckle. “What are you talking about?” 

George didn’t want to continue, but his grave was dug, and he was going to lie in it. “Her perfume,” he choked out. “You smell like her almost every day now.” 

They sat, staring at each other in icy quiet, and George could smell the hints of lavender. He never cried in front of Dream, only reserving it for when he locked himself in the bathroom after fights, or silently in bed after Dream had fallen asleep. But here, now as he confronted his worst nightmare, this chilly demon of a boyfriend, he let himself loose. 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” 

Dream’s voice was torture. George’s ears popped, and he could almost feel the warmth of blood trickling down. On a usual day, this was where the topic was dropped, and they made polite conversation about their days, meandering around the gaping hole where their love used to be. 

But not today.

“No,” George said, voice quivering. “No, we’re going to talk about this now.”

Dream set his cutlery down so roughly, the clatter of silverware against ceramic so jarring. George jumped, his blood rushing in his ears. “Okay,” Dream spat. “you wanna talk about it? Let’s talk about it.”

“Who is she?” George started.

“Her name’s Elle. She’s a friend of mine.”

“A friend of yours you’re fucking?”

Dream roared. “You have _no idea_ what you’re talking about, George.”

“Then explain it to me!” George retorted, voice raising to challenge Dream’s. “Tell me, Dream, _tell me!_ ”

“What do you want me to say, huh? You want me to tell you that we’re sleeping together? You want me to tell you that she’s better than you in bed?” Dream gripped the edge of the countertop, face reddening.

George’s heart burst, sinking to his knees. “I want you to tell me the truth.” He pleaded, brown eyes begging. “Why are you seeing her? Why do you keep _lying_ to me?”

“Because at least she’s honest with me!” Dream yelled. “At least she _loves_ me, George, which is more than I can say for you.”

The sound was ear-splitting, thunderous. It was a cacophony, the way George’s resolve broke, and anger bled into his vision. All he could hear was the breaking glass and the roaring screams in his fury. He stared at Drean, breathing in mercilessly. 

“Was I not enough for you?” He asked, his voice ominously calm. “Was my _giving everything up for you_ not fucking enough for you? You had to go and fuck one of your friends, and for what? For pride? For greed?”

Dream tried to cut in, but George bludgeoned on, his tongue seething, his frustration spilling out of his mouth. “I gave everything to you, Dream,” He choked on his words, begging to be listened to. “I gave you _everything_ I had. We’re a part of each other now, and I could never bring myself to find a reason to leave.”

They stared at each in blazen silence, every confession and opportunity to reconcile doused in gasoline and lit into a roaring flame. George got up from his stool, pushing away the plate of dinner Dream had lovingly put together. It singed his hand and he recoiled, looking back into the eyes he once fell in love with.

“I found one now.”

Dream’s words were icy steel. “You walk out that door, and you have nothing.”

“I’d rather have nothing than anything to do with you,” George managed to whisper. “I’m going to Nick’s. I’ll be back one day for my stuff.”

He turned, feet heavy, picking up his bag and coat and unlatching the door. Behind him, Dream was yelling his throat hoarse, spitting curse words and promises and, “No one is going to love someone like you, George.” 

He wanted to stay. He wanted to turn back and press apologetic kisses to Dream’s lips, apologise for ever bringing up the subject. He wanted to sink into his arms, let him call him his baby one last time. He wanted to reach his hand up, cradle Dream’s rigid jaw and sing to him, “ _Baby, my baby, tell your baby I’m your baby._ ”

The door opened. He walked out, and let the draft slam it shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually the first of two parts i have planned for this story, but i'm not sure if i want to continue it. if this piece receives well n u guys want to see the aftermath of their relationship please tell me! <3 
> 
> thank you for reading. as always, comments and criticism are welcome. 
> 
> love always,  
> agora
> 
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